A small living room with a blazing fireplace, the unknown, time unknown

In the room, there were two comfortable chairs, four relatively uncomfortable ones and one sofa that was meant to seat three. On, the sofa, sat a gaggle of children, whose ages ranged from the very very young to very young, or, in layman's terms, from around 3 years of age to around 10 years of age. The biggest child in the lot, asked to the old man sitting on one of the comfortable seats, reclining himself while reading a seemingly old and musty tome, in a rather loud and brash voice ,"Gramps! Please tell us that story again!"

The old man looked up from his book, looked towards the child who demanded the retelling and the little demons beside him, who all froze and suddenly took the guise of tiny angels, acting as if they did not in fact cause him a great deal of grief not two hours prior, breaking into his locked room somehow and somehow managing to remove his beloved music discs and touched them with their bare hands, causing them to immediately be tarnished and lose at least half their value if he had not been happening to pass by and caught them in the act, saving his precious record in the process.

The old man felt a headache coming on as he glanced at the children before him, and froze. "I swear I see horns growing on the top of their heads, I must calm them down as quickly as possible, if just to preserve whatever sanity I got left after all these fiascos (read-years) and to put them to sleep and to gain him the few hours of rest he required to function.

"Alright you little demons, now, here is the tale of the impossible, the improbable, and the one all will refer to as the Fairy King. To start, you-"

"But Gramps!" One of the little ones interrupted, The old man seriously considered removing the apparatus allowing him to retain his sight and hearing as he withdrew himself from the utterly false story he was about to weave, his consciousness slipping below his imagination but he shook his head and asked the kid, not unkindly, "Yes?"

"Who is the Fairy King?" The kid asked.

The old man carefully placed the tome he had in his hands aside and placed his head in his hands. "Is any of you unaware of the Fairy King?" he asked.

None of the children nodded nor did they say that they knew who or what that name meant. "Well", thought the old man, "At least today, I shall be able to enjoy myself a bit. That tale is one of my favourites even to this day, So there shall be no need for me to actually go and fetch another book from my shelves, and this is really a story they should be aware of. I mean, in my opinion, this is an utter hogwash of a tale, even worse than that stupid tale of three brothers left behind by that stupid bard. Speaking of that bard, he never did mention if he personally knew those brothers" As his mind went further and further down the rabbit hole of his imagination, the children noticed the lack of interest on the old man's part, and quarreled amongst themselves for the privilege of waking him.

Several rounds of Rock-Paper-Scissor later, a very satisfied seven year old went up to the old man, her fellows watching her with their jealous eyes. She walked next to the old man and whispered to the old man that scared the living daylights out of him, despite his self being so deep under his subconsciousness pondering his past that he could not have possibly heard her. Even if he had heard her, he could not have possibly comprehended her words. Even with all these setbacks, he still managed to jump out of his chair, take his book under his arm as he did so, and run two steps from her, all such actions being remarkably dexterous for a person his age. His eyes were blank for a while longer, as he simply stood there, at least until all the children burst into laughter, snapping him out of his reverie. He turned about, stunned that he was out of his chair, a seven year old kid sitting there, laughing her heart out where he was just sitting. He searched his memories and froze realising what caused the fiasco.

A certain girl whispering into his ear, "I am gonna touch your book gramps!" and provocatively gesturing to do the same.

He looked at her and all the other children, his face turning redder and redder, like a tomato, until finally he burst into laughter as well. Unlike the children's laughter which tinkled through the room, his laughter boomed, literally shaking some of the shelves as he laughed, from deep within his chest. He stopped well after the children did, and wiped a tear out of his eye as he gently picked the child in his seat, sat in it, and sat her on his knee.

He stroked his non-existent beard as he gathered his breath, "So, the Fairy King huh? That is a very contested position, held by but one, from the beginning, till forevermore." He looked around, and realised he was losing his audience, rumbled his throat, gesturing for them to come closer to him, and when they all obeyed, he procured an odd stick and waved it around before setting it down once more. Then he gathered his breath once more, and began a tale, not his tale, for he was not the first ot spin it, although he did weave his tale well.

"The Fairy King is the king of all the magical beings in the world the Fairy King resides in. The Fairy King is the being with the most powerful magiks in the world, the being with the power to learn new magics and magiks, by simply living. The Fairy King is the beloved of the world, who can turn the world upside down as the Fairy King wishes, and is also known as the most mysterious being in the world."

"But gramps!", one of the kids interrupted him, "You certainly know a lot about him. You told us what he can do!"

At this, the old man chuckles, and says to the kid, "But my boy, that is ALL of what we know of the being known as the Fairy King, we do not know the King's gender, the King's powers, kingdom and perhaps the most important, we are unaware of the King's name, for he must have one."

At this, the oldest child raised his hand, and when acknowledged, asked, "But why must he have a name? who will give him the name?"

The old man chuckled once more, from mirth, as he explained, "The King must have a name my boy, because he is a being so powerful that the magic of the world itself will name him."

Another child raised his hand and asked, "But gramps, why did you say 'will'? Isn't there already a fairy king?"

The old man tutted, thinking to himself that there he could hear no capitals in either fairy or king, and said, "No, as far as the world is aware, there is no being known as the Fairy King born in this world."

He raised his hand, indicating for his little demons to stay quiet, and continued, "As I was saying, there is no being known as the Fairy King in this world, despite there being fairies and a Fairy Court, there is no one true Fairy King. Despite what the two Courts may say, and for all of their powers, there is in fact, no true King, for they have not been proclaimed by the world."

"Gramps, what does that mean?"

The old man looked them all in the eye and said, in the gravest voice he could muster, "I do not know."

All of the children, including the girl on his knee, looked at him and giggled for a short while before the little girl asked, "But gramps, if you don't know, how will the people know?"

At this, the old man simply said "If the day ever comes that the Fairy King is born, the entire world will rejoice, and you shall know."

At this, the children were dumbstruck for a moment, and seeing his opportunity, the old man struck as he saw his moment, and asked, "How do you little demons think the Fairy King is born?"

The children frowned, their expressions twisting in consternation, giving various answers, each answer more absurd than the one prior. The old man laughed in schadenfreude at their difficulty in meeting his demand and offered an olive branch to them, "Want me to tell you?"

As they nodded and awaited impatiently to hear the answer, the old man asked another question, "You all know how us people are born, correct?"

At this, all of them nodded, albeit some were somewhat nervous as he expected, and with much more vigorous nods when he said a single word, "Storks."

Then he dropped the big bomb on them from the get-go. "That is not how the Fairy King is born."

He dropped his voice to a conspirational whisper, and said, "The Fairy King is the only one of his or her kind. He or she is a miracle made real, a hundred, a thousand, an uncountable number of coincidences occurring at an unknown sequence, with an increasing tempo, like a master Potioneer making the most complex of potions, blindfolded. And, while we are unaware of what is the end, the process, or even the beginning, a long, long time ago, our ancestors divined but one ingredient, and immediately sought all places holding the ingredient, and waited for over three centuries with no result. The ingredient in question was a single phoenix tear dripped on an Anemone, which dripped the tear not more and not less than seventy-seven seconds onto a seed of an amaranth, which is to bloom on the seventh full moon of the year and wither three days later. This process must repeat seven times in total in the progeny of the amaranth. And no-one knows any further of what is to happen."

The old man noticed that all of the demons were asleep and gave a relaxed smile, "finally," he thought, took them a while, but that story did the trick well enough.

He had not mentioned several facts to the children, that the way he mentioned was the method to produce the directions to the Tree of Eternity, where one had to pluck the one fruit which had a single seed, and to throw the seed in the ocean providing to the Tree of Life, to grow into the Pointer Tree, which can be transfigured into the Pointer Compass, which can be used to find the World Seed, a seed whose very existence is constantly put under question, that even if all the coincidences piled together to the successful finding of the World Seed, and that Seed would somehow seed itself into the Lake of Wisdom under the World Tree, the seed taking an unknown period of time, unknown to any, and blooming into the Lotus of Eternal Knowledge, at the very centre of which would lie the beginnings of the Fairy King, or say it was said.

In the Lotus, there was nothing. Or so the explorers would think.

The old man slept with a fit, recalling the end of the story as told by those explorers themselves, that they had nearly been driven mad by the frustration of their wasted efforts, and sighed to himself on years of wasted efforts and youth of several generations seeking the power of the Fairy King and fell into the realm of slumber himself.

Despite their careful searches of the myths and legends of people long past, people still missed the very catalyst of the one called the Fairy King.

No matter how hard they searched, they would not know of this, for none before had known, and those who stand on the shoulders of Giants very rarely look down to see what they missed.

The single most important ingredient, that catalyses the entire reaction, allowing for the Fairy King to be born, regardless of what other conditions have been fulfilled, that can make the Fairy King, was the soul of one who can listen to the world, one who has achieved the rank of 'Alchemist', who had lived all their lives for the world expecting nothing for recompense and had healed the world they resided in of damage, causing flowers to bloom at their death, the world mourning at the passing of a great one, who had vanquished their devil and had grasped their heart once more after losing it, gaining more power than ever before.

And coincidentally, the world had found such a soul.

In fact, this soul had ticked all of the marks in the world's checklist, and more.

This soul catalysed itself as soon as the world accepted it's existence and fed it with the power to claim its place as the World's Daughter.

The soul hungrily devoured all the power offered to it and reformed, turning physical, visible to the naked eye, shimmering with sheer power as it looked to the place it would call home.

And so, it shot to the tallest mountain of the world, phased through the mountain, entombing itself, and waited for the right time.

The right time arrived when a small earthquake shook free a stone shaped like a baby, and the baby was kised by a woman who lost her own, who held the baby as her own, desperation fueling the final spark for the miracle to happen, and causing for the baby to be "born".

And in the ears of all those who listened throughout the world, there was but a single word.

"Tanya"